


Possible (37/39)

by Mexta



Series: Possible [37]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, post-412
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:57:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mexta/pseuds/Mexta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey gets some news</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possible (37/39)

For a few days everything was good. Ian seemed glad to be back; he went to therapy regularly and hung around the house the rest of the time, looking after Yvegeni or talking with Svetlana or Mandy or one of their brothers. It was kind of amazing how he got along with everyone, although Mickey secretly didn’t see how anyone could not like Ian.

Mickey himself came and went without explaining his activities, relieved that Ian didn’t ask any questions. The semester was almost up and Mickey started daring to hope that he might get through it without fucking up and without having to admit anything to Ian. 

Of course it could only be a matter of time until something had to go wrong. And Mickey got the first inkling of what it was at the Alibi one night.

He was at the bar waiting for Svetlana to finish her last job so they could go home when Kev came over and slid a shot of Jack Daniels toward him.

Mickey downed it first, then asked the obvious question. “What’s that for?”

Kev shrugged. “Thought you might need it.” He nodded over at the table in the corner. “I was just talkin’ to your uncle Ronnie over there,” he added, and Mickey tensed up a little involuntarily. They’d been keeping a kind of tacit truce, Mickey and the rest of his extended family, ever since that night at the Alibi when he came out and Terry went back to jail. His brothers still got along with their uncles and cousins but Mickey kept his distance and they kept theirs.

"So?" Mickey asked, chasing the whiskey with his beer.

"Hear Terry’s gettin’ out in a couple weeks," Kev said, looking down carefully as he ran a bar cloth over the counter. "But I guess you knew that."

The beer burned suddenly in Mickey’s gut. He kept drinking, stalling for time, so he could answer Kev without showing a reaction. That was still his instinctive response to any unwelcome information — bluster, hide, cover up.

Fortunately Svetlana appeared at that moment, so Mickey didn’t need to come up with a nonchalant reply. He swung himself off the barstool and grabbed his jacket, griping, “What took ya so long, you give him a free bonus?”

Svetlana mumbled something in Russian that was starting to sound vaguely familiar to Mickey and the two of them headed out the door together into the night.

***

"Hey," Mickey said abruptly, breaking the silence between them as they crunched through the last of the snow on the sidewalk. "You still talk to my dad every day?"

"No," Svetlana said shortly.

"That’s good." Mickey hesitated for a second, not quite sure what he wanted to say, and then it became clear to him. "You can’t, ya know. It’s him or me. You’re gonna have to choose one of us."

"I know," she said, not even looking at him. "I did."

"You did?"

"Yes. I chose you."

"Really?" It was kind of hard to believe.

She glanced at him, and it was hardly a vote of confidence. “You are both shit. But you are baby’s father.” She shrugged. “No choice.”

Mickey tilted his head with a slightly surprised frown. “Okay,” he said, and they walked on in silence. Strange, though, Mickey thought, to feel like he had an ally.

***

Of course Ian picked the next day to confront Mickey on a completely different topic. 

They were both quiet over breakfast, but Mickey was so busy wondering what to do about Kev’s news that he didn’t even notice how absorbed Ian was. Which made it even more of a shock when Ian suddenly spoke up.

"Where do you go every morning?" he asked.

Mickey stopped with a forkful of pancake halfway to his mouth and looked around him. “What, me?” They were alone this morning; even Yvegeni was out with Lana and Nika.

"Yes, dipshit." Ian gave him a friendly grin but underneath it he was still thoughtful and serious. "You. What do you do all day?"

Mickey hesitated. He knew he was going to have to tell Ian sometime, and so far he’d avoided actually lying. Ian had never asked him outright about his day-time activities, not since that time Mickey had taken in his final shipment. “I, uh … “

"Look, Mickey." Ian put down his fork and pushed his plate out of the way so he could lean forward across the table, green eyes fixed on Mickey’s face. "I know you don’t wanna tell me. I guess you think you’re protecting me or something. But we gotta talk about this. I — I’m trying to get my life straightened out, and I need to know what you’re doing with yours."

The sudden burst of intense communication left Mickey a little overwhelmed. “What d’ya mean, gettin’ staightened out?” It was hard to imagine any life improvement activities on Ian’s part that wouldn’t include divesting himself of Milkoviches. “You movin’ back to your house?”

"Not — that’s not what I mean." Ian reached across the table for Mickey’s hand, but Mickey couldn’t help pulling away; he pushed back his chair and stood up, pacing toward the kitchen as though to escape.

"Mickey … c’mere, would ya? I just." Ian paused, and then continued, his voice firmer than before. "Been talking to the counsellors at the clinic. They said I should be able to get a clean discharge from the army, on account of my bipolar and my age."

The words seemed to come from some distant place. Mickey leaned against the counter with his back to Ian, unable to think about anything except where this was going and what it might mean for him. For them.

"It’s gonna take a bit of jumping through hoops but they say the can help me, document my — my condition, clean up all that shit in the past. Obviously I’m not going to Westpoint but I can still get into some other school. My grades were good and I just need a couple more credits, then I can start college."

 _College_? Weirdly, that didn’t sound so different from Mickey’s own current path. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Mickey straightened and glanced around the kitchen, searching for some reason to be there. He saw the coffee pot and picked it up, hesitating again before he turned around. “You still gonna join the army when you’re old enough?” he asked.

"Naw, man. I can’t do that with this condition. I’m stable now but it’s just a matter of time till I have another episode. Manic, likely, or maybe I’ll crash again."

Mickey turned around. Ian was facing him from the table, his gaze calm and open. “But as long as I stay in touch with the clinic we should be able to catch it in time, make adjustments or whatever. Doesn’t have to ruin my life.”

"Course it don’t." Mickey could feel the relief running through his veins. He carried the coffee pot back to the table and poured refills for both of them, while Ian continued describing his plans.

"Was thinking I could train as an instructor. Teach weapons, or even just in a gym. It’ll get me back into shape and I can make a bit of money. And it’s flexible, I can set my own hours, take time off when I need to … "

It all sounded so reasonable and grounded that Mickey just nodded along, lulled into complacency, until Ian abruptly stopped and fixed his steady eyes on Mickey’s. “But that’s the thing. If I’m gonna do this it needs to be legit. To get the discharge, get into school, any kind of instructor’s licence … it’s not gonna work if I’m living in a house full of criminals.”

The sudden change of direction felt like a sock in the gut. Mickey stared, and his words came out harsher than he planned. “The fuck you saying, Gallagher? You plannin’ on leaving here?”

Had he expected Ian to deny it? For a second there was no response, and then Ian dropped his gaze. “I don’t want to. The counsellors are telling me to. They say I should move back home, that they aren’t going to go to all this trouble for me if I’m just going to stay in an _unhealthy criminal environment_.” 

From the way he said it, Ian was obviously quoting those dickheads at the clinic but even so, Mickey could hardly help being offended. He opened his mouth to protest, but suddenly Ian was in front of him, crouching to grab both his hands and meet his eyes on a level. “I know you don’t think you have any choice, Mickey. I know this life is all you know. But I can help you find something else. Come back to my house with me. We’ll figure it out together.”

Mickey started to pull his hands away, his head spinning a little. “Ian … “

"Or I can just forget the whole thing." Ian dropped his hands and stood up abruptly. "I don’t want to leave you, Mickey. Say the word and I’ll just stay here and forget all of that crap. What the hell, I can help you out, can’t I? Join the family business?"

"What are you, _crazy_ , Gallagher?” Mickey leaped to his feet and grabbed Ian’s arm, spinning him around. “No, you can’t — Jesus Christ, Ian, don’t you have any fucking sense? You ain’t joining us. I’m going to school, man.”

There was a pause, and then Ian said, “You’re — what, Mickey?”

“ _School_. That’s where I go every day — Malcolm X. Workin’ on my GED and the technical program.”

"Are you serious?"

"Course I am."

"But why didn’t you tell me?"

"Cause I — " Mickey stopped, remembering why he hadn’t said anything. "Because I don’t want to disappoint you when I — if I fuck it up."

Ian suddenly burst out laughing. “Disappoint me? You think there’s any way in the world that could disappoint me, Mickey Milkovich?” 

"I don’t know if — " Mickey broke off as Ian’s mouth covered his. There didn’t seem to be any more point in protesting. He yielded to the arm around his waist, pulling him closer; to the hand stroking the back of his neck, his temple, his hair. 

When they broke apart for a breath, Ian was still smiling, eyes on his like Mickey was the most precious thing he could imagine. “So … my boyfriend’s a college man?”

Mickey snorted and started to pull away, but Ian held him tight. “That’s pretty hot,” he breathed into Mickey’s ear, and then moved forward again, grinding his crotch against Mickey’s as though to prove his point. 

_Again, already_? Mickey barely had time to register his excitement as their lips met and Ian’s long fingers curved around his face. His own hands slid through Ian’s hair and down his back, and he let himself be pushed backwards toward the living room, until he felt the scratch of the old couch throw against his legs. Even then Ian pressed against Mickey so insistently that he thought he would topple over the back of the sofa. 

"You really wanna?" Mickey rasped out.

"Fuck, yes." Ian pushed at Mickey’s shorts, and in another moment they were both naked and Ian was pulling Mickey around to the front of the sofa. And then, just at the moment when Ian’s hand fell between his shoulder blades, pushing Mickey forward on to the couch — Mickey saw it: a brief, searing image flashing in front of his eyes. Of that other time, so many months ago; the last time he’d been braced on the back of the couch with Ian behind him.

Mickey froze, and Ian stopped immediately, as though he shared the momentary vision. “Mickey — ” he said, and what would have been a push turned into a clasp, a firm grip on Mickey’s shoulder. “It’s okay, forget it — let’s go somewhere else … “

“ _No_.” Mickey wrenched himself out of Ian’s grasp, suddenly determined that now, for once and forever, he would free himself from his father’s power. “Right here. Don’t stop.” 

He climbed forward onto the couch, leaned his elbows against the back, and turned to look fearlessly at Ian — who stared at him for a moment, and then smiled, and covered Mickey’s body with his own.


End file.
